


A Winter Night

by thural



Category: Bleach, Mass Effect
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Multi, a series of deeply unhappy thought experiments, blocks of ice, cloacas, krogan women
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2598734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thural/pseuds/thural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The price of peace is a gift of life.</p><p>As Clan Urdnot expands at a rate considerably outstripping every other krogan clan, questions emerge. To what can this surge in fertility be attributed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Opening Ceremonies

**Author's Note:**

> im not going to say that this isn't a joke, but im also not going to say that it _is_. and either way, the punchline is a long, long way away.
> 
> 11/17 i have decided that this isnt a joke.

It seemed that the wind howled at the glass, and the carbon dioxide snow lashed at its seams. A frozen bitter white sharp enough to cut scale and abrade bone, Wrex knew. He remembered. But there was no wind, no snow, and no glass. The displays were 4 meters high and spanned an entire wall of the cavern chamber. The fortress' master could watch anything he wanted on these screens. Anything in the galaxy. Anything that could be transmitted, the relays in the energy subunit could pick up. But what he wanted to watch was the perpetual blizzard that raged at the surface. That was all he ever seemed to watch.

Although the room was comfortably warm Wrex felt chilly and bored. He grunted, shoving his hump against the raw silk bolster upon the low couch in front of the displays, and crossed his arms and bit back his complaints. Never worked out well to do that. 

His grudging patience was rewarded. A few moments later the servants slid the dark wooden doors upon their silent hinges and a type of human entered. He carried a shallow golden bowl with a golden cover in one hand. His bearing was straight, his expression was blank, and his face was as cold and pale as the snow. 

Without a word he approached Wrex and offered him the bowl. Then he faced away, to watch the blizzard and not Wrex.

Wrex removed the cover. At the bottom of the bowl were two tablespoons or so of milky fluid. Wrex lifted it to his mouth and thoroughly scrubbed his long tongue over the basin of the bowl. Trying to pour that stuff out was a sucker's game. He didn't care about the faintly bitter taste.

"Thanks." 

The human didn't answer. A servant dashed into the room to take the empty bowl from Wrex' hands.

"Well, it's been a pleasure." Wrex grumbled, hauling himself up.

Byakuya Kuchiki turned and nailed him with a freezing glare. Wrex was impervious to it at this point, but he didn't mind leaving. As he departed, the wood and rattan and paintings, the hushed silence and human servants, yielded to fortified metal and blastproof concrete. The huge ship bay held his cruiser, which would be carried up to the surface by a pneumatic elevator powered by the geothermal power station under the fortress. When the red warning lights flashed Wrex felt at ease for the first time since he'd disembarked.


	2. Homelikeness

"Eh, you're clear to land, sorta."

"What does _sorta_ mean." replied Wrex, sliding a thick thumb over the kinetic differential controller that made it possible to hold course against the winds.

The krogan woman from traffic control worked a grunty laugh into the way she said, "Just watch where you're going. Had a incident while you were out. Keep to the north side." It was enough to make Wrex shift pleasurably in his seat with anticipation.

 _A incident_ had been: half the landing field sheared away by a spurt of acidic lava. The flow was still active and plumes of acrid smoke lifted from the pavement as he dropped down. He spared the thrusters so he'd plant himself extra hard and jar a little Tuchanka hazard into his guts just for the sake of homelikeness. When he emerged from the soft hide cushioning of the cruiser he took a huge gulp of the air and bellowed cheerfully.

The landing station's blast doors swung open before his swaggering self could get around to setting off the motion sensors. A hand drifted to his hip, though not quickly. Habit. He figured it was nothing, and when he saw the woman framed in the big doorway he started to get the idea that he'd been reaching for the wrong thing.

She was big, with buffed-out skin that was a rich dark red like mammal blood, and she wasn't wearing regulation uniform. Specifically, she wasn't wearing _all of_ regulation uniform. "I'm Korax," She said, and he recognized that grunty low laugh in her voice. "I don't got another arrival for about an hour."

"You know something I don't?" he said. He was already up close on her though, already unbelting the guns from his back. It wasn't an unfriendly question. She smelled good, salty and ripe; she had a good grip on his wrist as she pulled his hand to her bare flesh.

"I know what I heard about you and Sazgoth." She hissed against his teeth, and her long tongue stroked the underside of his chin. He chuckled and slid a big careful finger into her already-slick cloaca.

"Yeah, well, don't go spreading it around."

* * *

Korax was the first that day, then Chanrik, Xroat, and Tongrov, and a couple of sisters whose names he forgot. Good omen, siblings. More later, but first he had a powerful hunger and he needed a breather. Wrex sprawled on out the big sandstone dais in his chambers off the main hall, enjoying the last of the sunshine on his bare legs and performing the duties of turncoat war-strategist as a couple of kids - his kids - played on the floor. He coached them through a series of horrific slaughters upon each other's plastic armies; great was his delight in their questions and suicidal tactics. Some women brought in his food, big platters of it, all his favorite rare dead things in sauces that would melt a geth and kill a human. He leered at his servers openly only to find that they were already leering at him. 

It was as good as gunfire.

Garrus was one of the few people who knew about it, and he'd asked Wrex once if it bothered him, if he really could keep going on like that, knowing it was wrong. But it didn't bother Wrex at all. He said as much to Garrus. He'd made his peace with it right away. Just one man? Against the future of the entire krogan race? Garrus could take his moral dilemmas and shove em up his bug hole, or whatever turians had. No, Wrex didn't worry about it, not any more than he would worry about which server he would fuck first after dinner. It was all just fine.


	3. By Design

The fortress lay 226 meters below the crust of the ice dwarf Sazgoth. The power plant alone took up half the total volume: a massive, self-sustaining series of tiered geothermal collectors with two backups and and a battery array capable of sustaining life support for six months in the event of catastrophe. The docking bay, with its elevator to the surface, was the only vulnerable location; the rest of the facility lay behind 5 layers of radiation-proof and heat-dissipating armor plating, each with 30 meters of rock between them. While several concealed turrets guarded the entrance, the real defenses of the fortress were the alarms, and the prisoner. The alarms would send an encrypted alert to several of Wrex' haunts. They were mostly to alert him to discovery. The prisoner would defend himself.

The place was not without its comforts. The living facilities comprised six floors, one of which belonged entirely to hydroponics and a water vaporator which gave off a perpetual low hum that Byakuya hated. Wrex flew in with frozen meat and crates of alcohol and packets of tea, and the occasional basket of delicacies, but even without these the fortress was entirely self-sufficient with respect to food and water. The other floors held spacious, comfortable living quarters for the servants (Byakuya had brought all 53 of them with him), entertainment facilities, an armory, a clinic, and other necessities. The top floor was reserved for Byakuya's personal quarters. These were extensive and contained, in painstaking recreation, all that he could remember of his own home on a faraway world. Except that all of windows and decks and doors were replaced by display panels which simulated natural light and pleasant vistas. Or they would, except Byakuya kept them either blank, or tuned to the snowy surface, or when there was a rare break in the snowfall he would point the cameras at the empty dark sky and regard the stars. Sazgoth had no moons.

The fortress had been phenomenally expensive to build, and even more expensive to keep secret. Wrex had turned in a few favors, and one deep wound, to peel quite a lot of credits off Shepard through a "dark" loan through ambassadorial channels; the rest had come from ancestral coffers, and from the prisoner himself, who, as it turned out, had his own ancestral coffers. Costs had been mitigated somewhat by the use of modular components from asari terraforming and colonization efforts; these secondhand parts included the vaporator, which would have cost three times as much otherwise. An AI directed construction and droids did the work. At the end, they were all wiped of any memory of the entire affair. Not that they had anywhere to be returned to: the small company which had developed and sold them to Wrex had its offices destroyed in a freak accident shortly after construction began. No employee survived. A few weeks later, a similar accident occurred at the site where its remote databanks were located.

* * *

The thing Wrex told his people was that he had a little flip operation on Sazgoth: he bought casks of hanar wines at wholesale on the hanar homeworld, took them out to Sazgoth, buried them in the carbon dioxide snow for a few months, and brought them back "aged" to sell at 40x markup. What was a krogan doing _trading_? Wrex would chuckle and say it was expensive to keep up with a big family. His clan work alone wouldn't keep him afloat, not anymore. 

And he did have a big family. He was responsible for his clan, and his clan had a very bottom-heavy demographic pyramid. There were over 3000 new members under 2 years old, all in Wrex's compound. For a long time nobody cared who the fathers were.

* * *

"Business, or pleasure?"

"Just visiting."

"Who?"

"I _said_ just visiting." She ground out from between clenched teeth.

"And I was _playing along._ " The border guard hissed back. "Jurdon spawn ain't welcome here."

"You have to let me in."

Normally this is the kind of statement that makes a krogan border guard reach for his rifle and bring down his blast shielding, but as pissed as the woman was, she had a weird submissive posture, one that the guard, Horka, had never seen before. Urdnot women don't stand like that, with their hands on the counter where he could see 'em, stance wide like she was ready to be frisked. And they don't say

"Please."

Horka nailed her with a suspicious glare.

"I want to bear."

"....What makes you think you're gonna do that here?" The question was genuine. Not like Horka was unsympathetic, even if she was an enemy. But this wasn't the capital; it was an outpost, the gateway to Urdnot territory. It was a nothing town with no building taller than three stories and no visitors to comb the dusty, empty streets.

"Ahhhh, don't make me spell it out!" She shouted. "It's not worth it. Just let me in--"

"I don't gotta let no one in!" he started to argue, but she kept barking right over him.

"I'm unarmed. I can pay. I can cut allegiance. What else do you want?"

"You'd _turncoat_?" It wasn't a surprise that she _could_ cut ties, but what made her want to do it _here_? "Why?"

"You don't know." It was a question, given in a low voice where every syllable fell like a rock with _are you stupid_ engraved on it.

"Enlighten me."

She looked shocked, which on a krogran is a little like gearing up for a sneeze, and said, "Urdnot women bear. Like flies. Some say it's the peace. Some say Wrex's got a cure. All I know is I want in. I can give you 25,000 credits. Just let me in."

"...Yeah." He replied slowly. This was news to him. He _knew_ , but he didn't _know._ Not like this. He knew there was no cure. If there was a cure, Wrex would be handing it out like pistol clips. She was a good looking woman, even if she stank of Jurdon scum. Reluctantly he grunted, "Alright. Gimme five thousand. You're gonna need the rest along the way."

Her relief was evident. Even as she went for her omni-tool he threw her ID back at her and continued, "And if you make me regret this, I'm gonna enjoy finding you and selling you for parts, Jurdon Arbrak."


	4. An Empire Of Dust

A guard in an insulated bodysuit brought in the block, which was just short of a meter long and about half that in height and breadth. Pale blue-grey, threaded with transparent layers, it gave off a thin white smoke from every facet. The guard placed it on the pedestal in the center of the sand garden. Byakuya thanked him and lowered the airtight glass shielding around the garden.

Over the next six or ten hours the brick of Sazgoth ice would melt. The carbon dioxide and nitrogen "smoke" - actually steam, as the brick boiled in place in the comfortable climate of the room - would pool and gather within the shielding, roiling like a fast sea, and become translucent, and finally vanish into gas. And it would leave revealed on the pedestal a delicate filigree whose exact form could not be predicted until it appeared. Micrometer-thin in places, fanning and stretching fragile arms and folds of an almost indiscernible beige through empty space, it was so fine that even a puff of air would destroy it, even the most minute quiver in the floor would shatter it to pieces.

A few hundred years ago, human beings had serious doubts that life existed anywhere in the universe except Earth. Today they knew that biophilic events could occur even on a frozen rock like Sazgoth, that the powerful cold and lack of water merely meant that the evolutionary timeline was slowed and not halted. Here, life was stuck at the level of the primitive single-celled organism; even to call them "single-celled" was a misnomer, as they did not appear to have nuclei or other organelles, and their means of reproduction involved a chemical reaction which occurred by chance and no more than once every few thousand years. But the thing persisted and was known to be alive because it could pursue. It followed seams of mineral salts entombed within the ice. It devoured them, and turned them into more of itself: a type of living rock with a membrane of hydroxyls protecting an active "fluid" which scraped sulfur and beryllium from the frozen sea at the rate of 2 µm a century. 

Without this, Sazgoth ice would simply melt into nothingness, leaving behind only a wisp of dust. But where the colonies stretched, they left traceries of stone like a coral. The melt revealed them. Sometimes the structure was unbalanced within the selection of the brick - there were ways to predict for this, but they were not used. An unbalanced structure simply collapsed under its own weight. But the threading was often dense enough, and broad-based enough, that it would stand up under its own weight after the melt. 

Byakuya would watch the melt. Sometimes he would watch it in its entirety, hardly moving, with his thoughts faraway and buried in the cloudy churn of sublimating gases. When the structure was revealed he would admire it for a while: they were often hauntingly and bizarrely beautiful, now with wings and talons thrusting up at a distant star, now with domes and minarets, now with graceful rolls like a suspended wave. Sometimes he would leave the shielding down for days to protect it. But always, in the end, the shielding would lift; sometimes even before it had retracted all the way, the structure would disperse into fragments and sand. And then he would regard the pattern of sand upon the pedestal, and then he would, with a little hand-broom, brush it away into the sand garden below, and crush any arms and tendrils which remained, and comb all the sand into a perfectly smooth rectangle. A few weeks later he would have another block of ice brought in.

Today he sat upon a low couch with bolsters covered in raw silk, pulled out the ankle-hems of his loose black pants, crossed his legs, and disappeared into his meditations. The guard felt like she was trespassing to watch him for a moment, with his fine profile turned to the sand and his silver eyes closed, his black hair tousled at his back, a long silvery-white scarf loose over his shoulders. The pressure of his presence was intense, even when, like this, he was ignoring her completely, and probably unconscious of her. He hadn't felt like training with his people for a while now. But this made him seem more unapproachable.


	5. A Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh yeah did i mention this is going to be full of revolting gross porn
> 
> as soon as i get done describing ice blocks, i mean

Wrex laved the bowl clean with his broad tongue. The usual servant dashed forward to take it from his hands. Today the displays showed the night sky above the ice crust outside, and the distant star, so far away it could be blotted out by a child's fingertop.

"We've got a problem," said Wrex slowly. He stood up and inserted himself into the space between Byakuya and the displays.

A glimpse of apprehension. Byakuya turned away immediately. He paced several steps off and spoke over his shoulder. "What is it."

"Inns are filling up back home. Gratt is thinking about letting some offworlders open a hotel. A hotel!"

"That has nothing to do wi--"

Wrex cut him off before he could sneer. "They think there's someting special going on around, something that makes the genophage stop."

"Isn't there." 

In the cold silence that followed, Wrex slapped his teeth together and grunted. "You don't understand. Krogan with questions, that's bad. Enemies coming in and acting nice. Heh, I been trying for years to get them to do that. But now it's dangerous. All it takes is one too many questions and people are gonna start figuring something out. Or worse, a salarian." He fell into a guttral mumbling. "Nothing's worse than a salarian with questions..."

A formless anxiety rose in Byakuya's thoughts. He knew little of the internal politics of Wrex's world and only a little more about the politics of a galaxy, but the fortress itself spoke in a voice of gold of the need for secrecy. "Is there something else you need from me."

Wrex watched the human-shaped back of the person he knew was not a human. Byakuya was bitterly proud. To look at him you'd think he wasn't worth killing, so his kind of pride looked like arrogance. Most of the time he talked short and sniping. This was the first time Wrex had heard his smooth human-sounding voice resonate with concern. He felt it in his membranes. A trustworthy sound. 

"Think that freak of yours can do anything?"

Byakuya's brows bunched up at that, _that freak_. He composed himself before he turned around. "If we have to ask him..."

"You got anyone else who'd know about it?"

"Nobody."

* * *

The painted face of Mayuri Kurotsuchi gleamed beneath the sun. It was a warm day: green boughs swayed behind him, heavy with seedpods and birds. 

"Well _well_ what a special occasion." He said, smiling a smile that showed every one of his white teeth. On the conference screen he was abnormally huge and luminous. "I trust you're still getting the results you wanted." His unblinking yellow eyes furrowed at the corners in mirth. " _Both_ of you."

"Yeah," said Wrex. He opted to stand. Though the chairs around the table were stronger than their delicate, uncluttered lines suggested, something about Mayuri always put him on edge, made it impossible to hold still and sit quietly. "About that. It's working, all right. Too good."

"What do you mean?" Came the reply. The delay was so slight on a message hurtling hundreds of light years over the empty void. Unnatural; a thing that deepened the insult of his sunny day, and Byakuya knew he did it on purpose. He sat at the head of the table. He was face to face against Mayuri, as firm and straight as if he were still among equals. 

Wrex explained. Mayuri's expression wriggled and squirmed like a haul of shrimp beneath the net of his face paint. His tremendous brain began to work at once upon the puzzle. And he would entertain himself as he worked.

"I'm surprised," he said happily. Byakuya's fine mouth tightened in contempt. Mayuri continued. "The reiatsu of the Kuchiki is so feeble?"

"Come to the point." said Byakuya.

"If it was strong, _he'd_ be able to spread around your gift." 

Byakuya's eyes narrowed dangerously, which sent a spasm of accomplishment straight to Mayuri's heart. "I've done what you said." 

"Is that so? Perhaps you require another implant."

"No." Byakuya replied, making a hard, flat cutting motion with one hand. "No."

With real regret in his voice, Wrex interjected. "They don't wear off, do they? Maybe because it's been a while..."

"They should not." said Mayuri, "But anything is possible. Perhaps you should tell me what method you're using."

"He makes it, I eat it. Why? 'S there something else?" 

Huge yellow eyes rolled their focus over to the pale man at the head of the table. "He makes it? You eat it?"

Byakuya looked away. It was not to conceal his shame, though Mayuri made the mistake of thinking so, as he twisted the screws. "Perhaps you should tell me _exactly how._ " And he folded his hands before him on his outdoor laboratory table, and propped his chin up on them. His smile became sickly sweet, mawkish, a mockery of a child's cheerful expectation of storytime.

The face that looked back at Mayuri then was bright with banked rage. "You're disgusting."

"Now then, captain. I can't help if you can't explain."

"I--"

"Do not use euphemisms." He added. "I might misunderstand." Mayuri had the delicious sensation of dancing at the edge of death's blade.

Byakuya drew himself up and lifted his chin. Without a hitch, without pause, he recited, "I masturbate into a bowl. I bring the bowl to him," He barely inclined his head towards Wrex. "And he licks it from the bowl. Is there a problem?"

As this short story proceeded, Mayuri's eyes grew wider and wider until he looked like he might explode with suppressed mockery. But he controlled himself, because there were many questions here, and he needed answers to all of them if this torture were to continue properly. "It?"

"The semen." 

"And is _he_ with you while you masturbate?"

"I'm not." Wrex cut in.

"Be quiet," Byakuya commanded, sharp as a knife. Wrex thought he'd heard more murderous humans, but none of them were sane. He'd definitely never heard a human asking to get his skull crushed like that, though. But with that, a realization hit. A cry from a dueling field. It was a fight, he understood that now. A fight between Mayuri and Byakuya. He was being told not to interfere. He'd take it out of Byakuya's hide later, but for now, he shut his face and leaned against the wall.

"He's not," Mayuri proceeded. "My my, that is interesting. How far away is he when you masturbate?" 

"Down the hall, in another room. Perhaps," Byakuya estimated quickly. "Seventeen meters."

"Interesting. You said you used a bowl to catch your ejaculate when you masturbate?" He kept repeating the revolting terms, and his attention was keen upon Byakuya's face when he did so. 

There was no answering twitch. "Yes."

"The same one every time?"

"Yes."

"And what is it made of?"

"Porcelain. Gold leaf."

"Does it have a cover?"

"Yes."

"Show me."

Byakuya shifted and looked over to Wrex, who looked back and shrugged. Then he grumbled. "Yeah, yeah. One of your waterboys better know where it is, 'cause I'm not gonna hunt for it." He peeled himself off the wall and ducked out of the room. The hallway felt ten degrees cooler on his scaly hide and for the first time in his life he was glad for it. 

By the time he returned with the bowl, it was no longer necessary. "Oh, it's back with your appliance. Well, never mind that now. I believe I have discovered the problem."

Byakuya was on his feet now, and tying his sash about his waist. He was expressionless as when he came to Wrex.

"Do I wanna know?" Wrex asked.

"It is the distance. The implant is stable, but the _conversion_ isn't permanent. Dissipates. Like heat. You are serving him cold soup, Captain."

Wrex saw Byakuya's jaw clench and decided to risk sticking his neck out again. "But it works."

"If you received it _fresher_ , the cure would reside in the sample longer and at higher potency."

"And? Works fine how it is."

"And it would continue to work in every womb you sprayed your seed in, Urdnot Wrex. Possibly for several days."

"...You mean..." He grabbed the back of a chair and got his face in front of the camera.

"Females would remain fertile for that time. It's even possible that males would be able to use the activated cure from them. Or from you." 

"How much fresher can it get?!" Wrex shouted. The full impact of this discovery was still filtering through his limbic system - it wouldn't be just him, it really could just look like an effect of the area...

"The shorter the distance, the better the efficacy."

"If he stands right next to me?"

"He means," Byakuya said flatly. "If it is delivered inside you."

"What, you mean like you put your dick in my mouth? Fine, Kuchiki. If that's what it takes--" 

Byakuya left the room without another word. Wrex turned back to the screen, and Mayuri smiled still. "Perhaps he will come around."

"What's he upset about?"

Mayuri ignored this question. Instead he said, "He could also ejaculate inside your cloaca."


	6. About Krogan Women

The scientists modelled hundreds of thousands of outcomes and determined that the genophage represented a bloodless control of a bloody-minded population. In this calculus there were several externalities: the collapse of the market for krogan condoms, for example. On one krogan colony world three species of lichen went extinct after a steep decline in the number of hunters who killed the armored herbivores which consumed the lichen. The pH of most bodies of water on Tuchanka shifted over a 20 year period as the amount of piss draining into them sheared down to a fraction of its former volume. 

Another such externality was the fate of the krogan women.

At the center of this carrion flower sown by Mordin Solus was the duty to bear. Before the genophage her relations with her krogan brothers was cordial and brutal. Respected for her wisdom, feared for her aggression, cherished for her fertility, she was not so much the equal of the male as a perfected form of him: capable of all that a male krogan could do, and more. Sex was different in those days, too: happier, freely given and frequently so. There was no pressure to produce; all krogan colonies were swimming in kids anyway. It was a smart move to put it off for a while and build up some cash reserves. She chose and was chosen by her handsome peers, fearless, flush, and thick-humped.

The genophage tore through this happy way of life with vicious efficiency. Within a handful of years the strong bodies of krogan women were bound to the breeding pits. Those who could not bear were marked by an invisible brand. They were no longer choosers or chosen by the men they would have had by right and joy ten years earlier. Former strategists and warlords became trophies of battle. She who was unworthy was ignored. The asari girlfriend - formerly a pleasurable diversion - became more and more common, more and more serious. And it became apparent that nobody in the universe wanted krogan women so much as krogan men had before the fall.

Of course, krogan women could take asari girlfriends of their own, and some did, but they could not breed in that way as the men could. Many took krogan girlfriends, too, as they had before. But this was not any more common than it had been. Krogan men would fuck a sterile woman, certainly, but never again romance her. Those women who desired the company and closeness of male bodies had a minute selection of salarian and batarian experimenters, and a handful of human men with perverse fantasies about being crushed and mauled, and, alone praiseworthy, a few turians on frontier outposts, with stoic, serious intentions, who understood the value of indomitable power. 

They kept to themselves. The female clans strengthened around cores of breeders. Leaders learned to negotiate and defend, rather than attack and pursue. Children, cherished and covered in tears, grew up in the arms of dozens of attentive aunts. Did it make them softer? Whether or not, it could not be said - there were no krogan social scientists - but more than once this new tenderness was blamed for a skirmish defeat.

In this way and many others male and female grew apart; poems and war songs made less sense; old rules of valor and battle were overturned by necessity; the shamans spoke less of shared glory and more of the proper place of the breeding female. Even female and female grew apart. Insidious whispering had begun to come into the world of the tribes under the name of "fashion" and it said: women who can breed are different than ones who can't. More real. More womanly. 

One by one the stations of a woman's life fell into disorder and were reformed along these rigid and unnatural lines. And because her grief could not be measured, nobody ever accounted for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly i feel that i owe krogan women a happy chapter all to themselves. a real romance, just for them.


End file.
